


The Magical Accession

by Lucidity4fun



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Growing Up, Intrigue, Politics, Psychological Drama, Rise to Power, Rituals, War, magical research
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-04 06:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18338012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucidity4fun/pseuds/Lucidity4fun
Summary: Trying to beat the magic out of any wizard, let alone, from Harry Potter, can never be a good thing. And it wasn't. Magic acted in Harry's defense, conforming only to his wishes. Wishes that even he wasn't aware of. This slight twist in the paths will cast huge ripples, altering the temporal order of the wizarding world's antiquated oligarchy. What's a naive young wizard to do when the strings of fate drag him to situations which will test everything from his strength, his ideals, his goals, to all his beliefs? What is his destiny, to be the savior that most people wanted or to actually forge his own path? Was there even a choice?





	1. An Obscurial or a Poltergeist?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Mighty People! I hope you like it! With love.

Chapter 1 - An Obscurial or a Poltergeist?

* * *

_This world is an unsavory soup of contrasting flavors. It is a mixture of acceptance and resistance, hope and misery, joy and apathy, excitement and boredom, and love and fear. Unfortunately, it tends to carry a bitter tang for most. The world doesn't care about these rights and wrongs. It continues to float by following its own rules, which guide us while being guided by us. It's up to us to ascertain what rules the world follows, and what rules it should follow._

The words sounded like a load of bull-crap in the mind of a young, black-haired teen carrying a springy bearing. He was shaking as he kneeled down on the flat circular stone block and put the heavy gray tome next to the altar.  _This is it, though. There's no going back now,_ he prepped himself. He inspected the room with a weary glance. Everything was in place. Every nook, every detail that he had so meticulously envisioned for the ritual finally took its shape before him. Yet his single-minded obsession had waned at this last step. The silence and the stillness held him back. It seemed to say something to him. As if everything around him had paused and was waiting. Waiting for him to choose. Did he want to step forward or did he want to return?

_Return back? To where?_

Dark images and emotions of the past that was his frantic life pricked at him again as they had countless times before. The world had given him a truly rotten hand, crushing his hopes every time he thought he was in for a new round. He had been fighting for his life, struggling for an existence, ever since he was 11, having had it even worse before that. All that had sustained him over the years was the faux hope that his tribulations had some meaning, a well-defined purpose, to take him to a better place. In the end, though, life had always administered him the most appropriate reality-inducing dose, pushing him deeper into his self-designed pit of sorrows.  _Hope! Hope is a mistake,_ he cursed. All hope had ever lead to was more misery and pain. What was he even hoping for it all to lead to? He didn't have a proper answer. Everything that came to his mind was just so ridiculous. He realized now that even receiving a convenient answer wouldn't change anything. His life was what it was. It would go on racing by without waiting for him to come to terms with his own existence. By trying to define his life and concocting some convenient meaning for it, he was paralyzing himself in place, both literally and figuratively.

Peering at the triangular symbol drawn on the altar, he traced his finger around it. The symbol gleamed with an eerie crimson glow.  _The deathly hallows,_ his mind rang. Lit black candles, previously so somber, now shone with a radiance that filled the chamber with a sense of excitement.  _I have to do this!_  The enemy was getting stronger; he wasn't, and with each passing second, the odds of his vision coming true were thinning. Rare were the times where he even truly believed that there could be a safe way out of this. _Belief._ The ritual hinged on belief. _Who would I believe in, if I couldn't even believe in myself?_ Adorning the gray mask, he closed his eyes. A shining dagger flew to his hand. Just a touch of it on his index finger and blood was gushing and dripping over on the symbol. He raised the silver chalice to his mouth and took a sip. His eyes were clouded when he opened them. However, there was a clarity in his thoughts now.

_Stupid... So stupid… Always trying to do the right thing, without questioning whether it was the right thing to do. Without even realizing what the stakes were. Without asking what was right and what was wrong? That was the most difficult question we face. But to outright skip it! That was pathetic. If you don't choose your rights and wrongs, and just passively accept what you are told, you are bound to get confused, and in that confusion, you are bound to choose wrong. This confusion weakens my belief in myself! In my magic! I want to see it clearly. I won't allow my magic to be withheld from me any longer!_

Right hand to his chest, he loudly intoned the words to begin the ritual that he had so methodically designed for the past two months. The ritual that was prohibited and yet promised him so much. The ritual in which he will lose himself and yet potentially rediscover himself.

_"Magick, gift me with understanding. Illuminate the darkness and remove from mine eyes the scales that have been placed upon them."_

_"Magick, gift me with understanding. Let me know your presence in my life."_

_"Magick, let me see myself reflected in your glory, and your glory reflected in myself."_

_"Magick, give the wisdom to see to the core of all issues, and the insight to see the true purpose beyond the veil."_

_"Magick, give me the ability to know, and the clarity to see, and the will to act without guilt and in total confidence."_

_"I will draw from within that with which I would have the world know without."_

The flames flickered wildly as he gulped the rest of the drink. He could feel the heightened perception. Colors became brighter, edges looked sharper, the burning candles hissed louder. He stared unblinkingly across the room. Everything was different. Everything in the room seemed to demand his attention, calling for his fascinated gaze to turn towards them. Everything had their own story. Everything had something crucial to tell him. They moved as he moved. They breathed as he breathed. His head felt heavy. It was too much. He couldn't handle this. His mind failed to caution him as he saw a chair whoosh towards him. Yet it didn't touch him. A wave of disorientation passed through him, making him fall to his knees. He could hear voices, some speaking to him, some speaking to someone else. Some blaming him, some praising him. The gentle trill from Fawkes carried the pleasant lull of sleep.

"Don't sleep! Remember! Remember what you were trying to do." A squeaky voice rang out loudly in the room.

 _Trying to do?_ It required some effort to bring his attention to the question. Yes, he wanted to defeat Voldemort.  _No!_ His mind retorted back the thought, accentuated by a dark sinking feeling in his gut.

" _No?"_ He repeated aloud.

"What is the boy doing? This is no fun! You promised," the squeaky voice returned.

"Don't call me that!" The groggy reply came automatically. There was a bark.

"Huh… good boy?"

His instinctual reply managed to spark some of his awareness.  _No, it wasn't just about defeating Voldemort._  His heart thumped as forced his eyes to remain open.  _This is more important than that._ Wisps of black and white smoke had filled the room and were growing. He could hear the kids as they cried.  _I am weak and I don't want to be._ He dropped his metal barriers as the smoke engulfed him. His smoky vision was soon replaced by blurry images, some from his past, some which were imagined. He çouldn't call them memories, or thoughts. They were much too intense for those. He could see them, hear them, feel them, live them.

_He was alone…_

_He was dreading going to school. It turned out to be not as bad as he had imagined…_

_He was lying sprawled out on the floor, crying. 'That big, mean, bully! If only I was strong enough to hit him. To hurt him…'_

_He laughed as the teacher berated Dudley in front of the classroom…_

_He was so happy. He had ranked 3rd in his class…_

_He screamed. There was a rat in the cupboard…_

_He was frustrated. The teacher was punishing him for missing homework even though he explained that the lights in his cupboard were not working…_

_He was paying attention to every word the teacher was saying. She was explaining why their education was important, and how it would help them in the future…_

_'No!' He looked in the mirror. He felt like crying. How was he supposed to go to school with his hair like that…?_

_Another night without food…_

_He was lying silently in his cot. He hoped that he wouldn't get blamed for the game he had broken. 'It was worth it though…'_

The tornado of emotions seizing him caused his eyes to water. He didn't know for how long they would continue. He had prepared himself for this, but he hadn't expected to feel such raw intensity. He tried to focus on his goal and kept his desire at the forefront of his mind, knowing that a single misstep could have disastrous consequences. A last thought entered his mind as he lost his grip on reality.  _Did_   _I make the right choice?_

* * *

**June 23, 1991, Privet Drive**

Harry was feeling excited today, an anomaly in itself.  _A whole day of doing what I like!_ He thought, unable to keep the smile off of his face. His dear family was going to leave him alone to celebrate his cousin's birthday. Gone was the usual dullness of the Dursley kitchen, replaced by a shine only Harry could see. The suspicious look on his aunt's face across the dining table kept him from grinning.

"Why are you smiling,  _boy?_ " his aunt asked him with a displeased look on her face.

Harry berated himself and hastily searched for an explanation.  _Darn it!_ Not smiling in the presence of his family was on the top of CRUEL, an acronym he had made for Crucial Rules for Upbeat and Extended Life, a list of rules he kept and maintained. Spending a lot of his time in his cupboard, his brain had given birth to many such ideas. He didn't know how useful it was, but since he always had a lot of time to burn, he went along with it.

"I am not smiling, see!" he said frowning at his aunt.

She smacked his head. "Don't you act sassy with me! You don't want to be locked in your cupboard while we are gone, do you?"

He flinched. On some days it'd suit him just fine, but he couldn't let it be today. He gestured to the television. "I just liked how cool this Arnold looks wearing his glasses and riding a bike." He paused before adding, "You know, I even saw a flying motorcycle in a dream yesterday."

He regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth.  _What's wrong with me?!_

He tried not to recoil as his aunt sucked in a squeaky breath and his Uncle displayed the strange and frightening ability to turn purple.

"Boy!"

"How many times have we told you–"

They both started shouting at the same time.

"Unnatural–"

"Nothing a beating won't fix, I tell you–"

"The freaks will notice–"

"Stonewall High will beat it out of him, I'm sure–"

Spit flew from his uncle's mouth, while his aunt's high-pitched voice made his ear hurt. He couldn't really make sense of what they were saying, but they could clearly understand each other as they kept adding to the other's point.

"Even Dudley knows motorcycles don't fly!"

He wanted to punch himself as soon as it left his mouth.

 _Ugh, I am so stupid!_  He berated himself from within the dark confines of his cupboard. They didn't even let him finish his breakfast. In retrospect, he always wondered why he made such mistakes when he knew better, and it looked like he'd have a lot of time to think about that today.

 _No, there's nothing wrong with you,_ he reminded himself for the umptieth time. He had often seen other kids act much worse. They didn't get punished as he did; he had asked them that before they started making fun of him. These people were clearly not normal. Normal for these people was never having any fun, never asking any questions, never being curious, never being imaginative; in short, be a dud or like Dudley.  _I'd sooner cut my hair then be 'normal ' like they want._ Them being normal was like saying that this world was a good place to be in, or that everyone would be happy and rich in their life, and love each other, or that magic is real, or good job Harry, thank you.

 _Don't be sad. It isn't your fault,_ he repeated the CRUEL rule to himself. Yet, he began imagining what his day would have been like if not for his stupidity. Dudley would have been enjoying getting to bully his parents without restraint, having tantrum-convince them into not taking Harry. Mrs. Figg would have slept her day at a hospital, from what he'd heard.  _This day couldn't have gotten any better!_ He felt miserable thinking about it. Such a day came rarely, a day devoid of any nagging remarks and rude frowns. A day where he could have done whatever he wanted. It needed no CRUEL.

* * *

Harry waited for the sound of the car to fade before sweeping off a spider which had fallen on his shoulder. He tried to open the cupboard door but bristled upon realizing that they had indeed locked the door.  _Ugh! I wish I could just smack them in the face!_ He knew it'd never happen, but still, he fantasized about that a lot. He had a few hours to himself before the banes of his life would return. He didn't know who he was more angry at, them or himself.  _I am going to make their life hell. I'd… I'd…_ He kicked the door with his barefoot leg.

"Ouch! Aaaaargh..." A click from the door stopped his moaning.  _Huh._ He pushed the door and it opened.

Pain forgotten, he whooped in delight. _All this time I could have escaped the cupboard just by banging hard against the door? No, I have kicked the door loads of time._

 _Did I break the door?_ He checked the door and found nothing wrong with. Still, the door was unlatched from outside.  _How am I going to explain this to the Dursleys?!_  "Ugh, I will deal with it later."

At least, he was out of the darn cupboard.

He stepped into the hall and cheered again. The silence in the house sounded like a melody to his ears and the gifts littering the floor seemed to beckon him over to have some fun. He restrained himself though. He'd first have the sandwich that was kept from him, making sure to use Aunt Petunia's favorite silverware which she had saved for special occasions. Instead of the usual egg salad sandwich, he made one so stuffed with fillings that they tumbled out as he bit. 

_Ahh, that's what freedom tastes like._

Finishing it in record time, he raced to the living room. The huge pile of gifts, most of which open, just screamed for his attention. But aware of other equally enticing options, he resisted the itch. The TV looked equally inviting, and he could even have a go, which he had been dying to do, at Dudley's computer games. He couldn't remember the last time he was spoiled for choices… well, good choices anyway.

"Today's going to be so much fun!" He declared loudly, having no clue as to how different this day was going to end up to be from what he was imagining.

Trying to make the most of what he had, he switched on the TV, and putting some music on, started Dudley's computer. For some reason, his hands were shaking as he switched it on. Within moments the noise the computer made threatened to muffle the Beatles song as well as his excitement. He had spent many a night wondering how it was like to play on a computer, and there were so many appealing games too that he had seen Dudley try. Paratrooper, Tetris, Arkanoid and a bunch more. Some games even had a story. How cool was that? There was also a strategy game, Sim-City, a game released just last year in 1989, that he had heard one of his classmates brag about. It was a pre-birthday gift by Uncle Vernon that Dudley had played only once before throwing it into the luxury trash pile that was his second bedroom. Apparently, it was a real-life simulation of a whole city. Harry drooled at just imagining it. Spending money in the city, building whatever you like anywhere you like, managing the people in the game, his mind just spun at the possibilities. It also had the best graphics yet from what he had heard. Even Harry who only got to touch a computer at school got super excited about the game. Naturally, Dudley didn't like it.  _"Who'd play this game? It's like working instead of playing!"_

Half an hour later, he finally managed to launch the game. The computer had taken 10 minutes just to start, and the rest was spent in learning to start and play the game. For once he agreed with Dudley - the game was trash, and he wished he had chosen another game. He just hoped he didn't delete anything accidentally. He grinned at the thought.  _Or I hope I did and they don't blame me for it._

He searched for the game that Dudley had been playing.  _There. Right-click, delete. Haha, that should remove the game._ " _Now_  try to beat Polkis's records _,_ "he said with bitterness borne out of the slew of memories where he was bullied by the pillock. Maybe he would get an opportunity to use the new camera to click a photo of his stupid expression on trying to start the game.

Then he had another idea.  _No, I shouldn't do that,_ a part of his mind, to which he usually listened to, immediately warned. But in his eyes was a look that boded mischief, and in his mind an urge that he couldn't resist.  _Hopefully, they don't find out about it, or at least not too soon, buying just enough time for me to deflect the blame and escape punishment._

Grinning, he ran to Dudley's room and looked.  _Holy moly, what does the git do with so many toys?!_ He had thought the second bedroom contained all of the old stuff. Apparently that was just the stuff that Dudley had managed to move. There were so many things that could do with a proper botch up.

 _Let's go for the new ones first. Hmm…_ Sensing some movement from the corner of his eyes, he immediately glanced at the red, shiny, remote-controlled car on the bedside table.  _Huh, did it actually move right now?_ He shook his head and picked it up. It was Dudley's favorite car.  _No…,_ he thought. "Yes!" he exclaimed. He removed its batteries and replaced them with the ones from an old discarded cuckoo-clock. He then turned on the car. It made a whiny noise similar to the one Dudley makes when his meals finish but refused to move.

"Hah hah haha hah hah haha," he laughed loudly copying the way Dudley laughs whenever he chased him. "Take that, cus."

It was perhaps the excitement or the thrill for he was breathing hard. He didn't want to stop so soon, though. Other toys that Dudley liked were met with the same fate and were unfortunate witness to him doing a jig on his feet.

His heart was beating loudly and he was feeling a high he never had before. Releasing a whistle, he plopped down on the bed. _Oh wow, this bed is so soft._  He didn't know they made mattresses this soft or even half as soft. He wondered if he should mess with Dudley's new birthday gifts. _No,_  he dissuaded himself. _If they catch me it'd be nothing short of fatal._ He laughed and stretched his arms across the slushy bed.  _What's this?_

Lying beside him were Dudley's school books and notebooks. A bulb switched on in his mind.  _Nooo! I shouldn't…_ But the resounding warning went unheard. "This is going to be so hilariouuus!" He didn't remember a time when he had laughed so much.

His hands moved as if they had a will of their own, and his mind ran a mile a minute. After he was done, he evaluated his handy work. Some pages were crumpled as if Dudley's porky arse had sat on it.  _OK._  "By" became "Bye", "Hat" became "Hate", words were crossed out or changed entirely.  _Not bad._ He even added a rude remark to a teacher's remark.  _Nice!_ He then accidentally spilled some ink on the last piece of homework. _Oh my god! It's so... brilliant actually._

For the first time though, he felt a little pitty for Dudley.  _But, this was not bad! Happy Birthday, Dudley. Hope you like my gift!_ he thought a little spitefully. _The last couple of weeks of school were going to be so much fun!_

The regret came only after he had rearranged everything the way it was.  _Oh no, why did I do that?_  came the ugly thought. _I_ _am so screwed if they catch me._  He started hyperventilating, the anxiety refusing to dissipate even after rationalizing his actions -  _They won't, though_. _Dudley never shares anything school-related with them._

TrnnTrnnn! He was startled by a noise from downstairs. _God! Did I leave the kitchen's window open again?_

He turned to go downstairs to check but had to catch himself. Even though he hadn't done much work since morning, his legs had given in, and, all of a sudden, he felt exhausted. He noticed his breathing had gotten louder too.  _Was this getting sick?_ He couldn't recall the last time he was sick. His head was spinning; he felt a wave of fatigue pulling him towar- THUMP!  _What was that?_

His eyelids were getting heavy, forcing him to close his eyes. Taking quick breaths, he tried to compose himself.  _Everything is alright._ AHAHAHAHA! He heard someone laughing. A long breath.  _It's just a... You are…_

* * *

KLANK! The sound nudged him back to consciousness. "Ugh!"  _What happened?_ "AAAgghhh," he felt as if his head was splitting open. 

 _Why am I on the floor?!_ The last thing he remembered was ruining Dudley's homework. With groggy eyes, he looked around the room. Everything was disordered, just the way Dudley left it. Did he fell unconscious? He looked at the clock. It was at least an hour since he had been out.

Feeling an uncomfortable churning in his stomach and with the mother of all headaches, he trudged back downstairs. The TV was on, but no sound came off it. He distinctly remembered listening to music at loud volume. A terrible thought struck his mind.

He warily sat on the sofa and picked up the remote.  _Please don't let anything be wrong with the TV. Uncle Vernon would have my head!_ He increased the volume again.  _Phew._ He breathed again.

Thanking his lucky stars, he lounged on the sofa. He felt drained and wanted to lie down for a bit.

He was about to close his eyes when he saw Dudley's new video camera lying unboxed on the floor. His eyes went wide.  _What was it doing there?_  He hadn't unboxed it, had he?

He wasn't a stranger to weird things happening around him. An image of the unfastened cupboard latch flashed in his mind. Remembring it brought down a terrible feeling upon him. Then he recalled the sound that had alerted him when he was in Dudley's room. He examined the hall.  _No signs of a cat._ He entered the kitchen. The window was closed.  _Weird. Was it a rat again?_ He seriously hoped not. He was deathly afraid of them ever since he was little.

He carefully packed the camera again and examined the living room. _Why do I feel as if I'm missing something?_  He slowly went back to the sofa. All of his previous excitement and energy had vanished, and he just wanted to have a little kip. Just as he was about to tumble on the sofa, he tripped his leg on something and nearly lost his balance. Only his quick feet allowed him to avoid falling over. "Ugh!" he repeated massing his temples. This day was not panning out as he had hoped.

" _EEeeh, hee hee hee!_ " A high-pitched giggle resounded in the hall.

His heart stopped and he whipped around. Nothing. There was nothing out of ordinary there. If he was previously weirded out, spooked didn't even begin to cover what he was feeling now.  _Something is very wrong._

"Wh–who's there?" He whispered hoping with all his heart that nobody answered.

Silence.  _Calm down, Harry. No-one is playing Harry Hunting... and ghosts don't exist._ _Ghosts definitely don't exist._

He forced himself to believe that it was just his imagination. Maybe playing those computer games did something to his brain. Maybe that's why the teachers asked them to not play too much video games. He slowly sat on the sofa.  _That's it. I would just lie here and watch the TV till the Dursleys came back._ He immediately jumped and screamed.

The channel on the TV had changed.

He looked around in fright.  _No, no, no! Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, please come back soon!_ That thought momentarily broke him out of his delirium and he noticed that the remote was under him, where he had sat.  _Maybe..._

He went down from being absolutely terrified to being completely anxious. With trembling hands and a splitting head, he picked it up. There was a trickle of sweat on his brows now. Taking deep breaths, he moved to change the channel again when the channel changed on its own.

He made a squeaky noise and crouched on the sofa hiding his face between his knees. His body was shaking. He was sure that he hadn't pressed any buttons. He remained in this position moaning, waiting for something to happen.  _Why? Why did I open the cupboard?_

Nothing happened for a few minutes. He was just sitting there, trembling. Then the channel changed. Harry shivered. And changed again. He made a whimpering noise. And again. He stood as still as a log. He hadn't felt this terrified in his whole life. And then, the thought that was previously so terrifying came back as a last ray of hope.  _Maybe… Maybe there was something wrong with the TV._ That was far more likely than a ghost... who definitely don't exist, haunting him in broad daylight.  _Yes, that was it. He was being stupid, freaking out for no reason._ That wasn't much better though if he really thought about it. There would nothing be worse than the Dursleys coming home to find a damaged TV. The channel changed again.  _No, there was something worse. There definitely was._

He opened his left eye minutely and glanced from the gap between his legs. Everything looked the same. He slowly raised his head. There was no sign of anything out of the ordinary. He looked at the TV waiting for the channel to change. It didn't.  _Dammit, change!_ The channel changed. He let out a huge sigh of relief.  _Thank God, the TV is faulty._

He stayed there for a few moments gratefully. All he wanted now was to have a good nap. He had enough excitement for today. He was about to turn off the TV when he felt the hair stand on his back. He sensed the presence before it smacked his right hand.

"Mn, mn!"

He gave a frightful yelp and shrunk back into the couch. "AAAagh…" he cried. There was nothing there.  _Oh my god! Oh my god!_ His body felt paralyzed in his fright. "Please don't kill me!" he whimpered pathetically.

" _Booo,_ " the ghost whispered…  _in both of his ears_! Harry screamed and bolted into his cupboard, slamming the door hard. The interior was filled with dust and spiders. Harry wasn't about to sit around and collect dust, though. His heart was thumping, and his mind was in overdrive. He jumped on his bed, which made a protesting screech, and covered himself in his blanket.

He didn't know for how long he stayed, unthinking, unmoving. Nothing ghostly happened. He replayed the events of those haunting minutes over and over, trying to find some way to make sense of them. But with each remembrance, his foreboding only grew.  _I hope the ghost can't come into his cupboard._ He felt like crying.  _I hope he can't get into my blanket!_

He could only hear the sound of TV from outside. He waited. The channels weren't changing.  _Am I going bonkers?_  Trying not to make a sound, he softly lied down and closed his eyes, and waited.  _Maybe this is all a nightmare and it will be over when I wake up._

It was a long time before his heartbeat slowed down, and he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Harry was jerked awake by the sound of the garage door opening. The first thing he remembered was –  _Oh no! I left the TV on._ He kicked open the cupboard door and scrambled out, gliding the spiders that had been shoved out back into the cupboard. The TV was on, but no sound was coming from it. He then remembered the rest of the events of the morning and halted in his tracks.  _No..._ And he uttered the word that was trending in the school right now.

He could hear the car being parked in the garage, and…  _was that the tire bursting?_  He didn't know what to do. Did he imagine the events in the morning? _No, I didn't,_ a voice in his head insisted. There was no way there was a ghost in the house.  _There was._ Come on, you just have to run and switch off the TV.  _But there is a ghost!_ Come on, don't let Uncle Vernon find it.  _But... but... the ghost..._ Show some balls! That thought, so like Dudley's voice saying the line he used while bullying other children while flanked by his lackeys, compelled him to act. He sneaked into the living room and glanced around carefully. Nothing was out of the ordinary. He exhaled.

He could hear voices coming from outside. _I just have to run and switch off the TV._ He forced himself to dash into the hall to pick up the remote but froze at the scene in front of him. The remote was now flying away from him, and the volume was going up.  _Oh my God! Oh my God!_ "IT'S A GHOST!" he screamed. Then he said the trending curse word again.

Hands trembling, he hastily pulled the television plug from the socket. He had once heard of a movie where the ghost was living in the TV, and had guffawed at the concept. A loud baby-wail echoed through the hall.  _I am so dead!_  He had never felt such a combination of terror, helplessness, and confusion in his life.

He heard the jangle of keys in the doorknob. Deciding it best to leave Dursleys to face… whatever it was, Harry bolted for the cupboard. But, as was becoming the norm today, he couldn't. The thing tripped him in the middle of the hall, and he fell face flat onto the pile of gifts.

What was happening was the stuff of his horrid nightmares. There was a ghost crying in baby's voice; he was gripping onto Dudley's new bicycle whose handle his fall had broken, holding a broken computer game in his hand; the Dursleys were gaping at this scene from the doorway, and Dudley had started bawling.

KLUNK! Some kitchen wares went rattling to the floor in front of the door. Aunt Petunia had her hands over her mouth, and his Uncle was shaking with a flushed face. "WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT NOT BLOWING UP THE HOUSE?!" his Uncle bellowed.

Harry stood rooted to the spot. He was feeling just too many emotions. He didn't know what to do next; scream, save himself from his Uncle, run as far as possible from the ghost, or pinch himself to check if this was a dream. Strangely, all he could do was to say, "Happy birthday, Dudley."

The room was filled with emotions ranging from confusion, fury, and fear to elation as everyone watched the new camera floating in the air to the top of the sink. "Say CHEESE," a squeaky voice shouted. There was a flash of the picture clicking, and the house was filled with uproarious laughter that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

* * *

_You desire in your life that which you think you lack, and the severity of it inflates as time passes. He desired the love that he was so cruelly denied. Love was the truth in his life then, in whatever weird shape it could be in living with the Dursleys. True to the reality of our world, its opposite could have been true too: he could have desired for fear from others. The toss of the coin was in his favor, and a poltergeist was created instead of an obscurial. Oh, how you work Magick, weaving the threads of fate so flagrantly, but which can only be obvious in retrospect._

* * *

**June 23, 1991, Privet Drive**

Lyanna Traymere, a tall girl, with a freckled face of twenty-two years, with thick dark hair, and swift, agile movements apparated at No. 4, Privet Drive with Norman Macmillan, a twenty-seven-year-old man with curly brown hair and similar alert movements. This was the first case of a spirit disturbance this month, and Lyanna was glad for the reprieve. She was getting knackered of just sitting and pushing papers. She had always hated paperwork, mainly because she had never ever managed to finish it in her two years of service. It always appeared to expand to fill the time available to her.

"Let the show start," she said as she observed her muggle surroundings with expectant eyes.

Spirit disturbances in muggle homes were very rare and they always provided her with a much-coveted entertainment in her life and equipped her with stories to tell. And it was her turn to take charge of the situation.

"You seem far too pleased for a slytherin among muggles, Lyanna," Norman observed as he looked around.

"There's only one thing I like more than scaring the shit out of muggles," she said flashing him a smile, "and that's muggles shitting their pants."

Norman's eyebrows rose.

"Don't tell me you don't find our job entertaining?" she asked.

"Yeah, I do, kind of. I just didn't expect you to be so straightforward."

She smirked. She liked not meeting the expectations of people.

He whistled as he looked around, "No signs of any destruction. That narrows it down to a ghost, a token spirit, or maybe even a poltergeist."

"A poltergeist? I wish. There'd be more of a ruckus in that case, and well, we aren't that lucky." There had been just one reported instance of a poltergeist manifestation in Europe in the past two years, and that was in Oslo. Luckily, they didn't have a dedicated to team handle such an event, and she had been sent with her previous boss. That had certainly been an illuminating experience.

The sun was about to set and a cool breeze was flowing in Little Whinging, whirling their dull black robes. She could feel Norman surveilling the surroundings while keeping an eye on her as she casted a protective barrier around the house. Her lips twitched. He was not too hard to look at either, and he was definitely not like the douchebags she always had the misfortune to meet.

Two weeks ago, she was paired up with Norman in the Spirit Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, when his previous partner had gone AWOL. She had jumped at the chance and switched teams. Her previous supervisor hated her, for reasons that were as apparent as his lack of intellect. She had been dropping hints that she preferred working with him, and hoped their team would be made permanent.

Their attention was drawn to the noises coming from the small walled structure situated near their house (garage). Norman casted a disillusionment charm on both of them.

A big, round, and beefy blond kid came waddling out and started kicking the wall. "That was boooring. You couldn't even make the snake move! That was the worst birthday eveeeer." He sniffed theatrically.

A large man, who could only be the kid's father judging by the size, tried to calm him. "It wasn't really boring, Dudders, was it? Piers seemed to have fun. And we got to eat your favorite dish at your favorite restaurant. We even bought two more gifts for you." He smiled as he ruffled Dudders' hair. "And you know what? Daddy's wonder boy deserves two more," he coaxed further.

The pampered boy dropped his theatrics at that, "So, now I will have… I have…"

"Forty-four gifts, my sweet pumpkin," a sugary voice responded, as a tall, large necked woman exited.

Lyanna blinked. That was the weirdest conversation and the most dysfunctional parenting she had ever seen. She wished her parents had been like that. However, none of her would-be kids would ever have such a pleasure. She shook her head. _Well, the prologue of my new story is definitely original._

" _IT'S A GHOST!_ "

Their attention turned to the house, from where a loud cacophony of sound was coming.  _Or was it a weird song?_ She focused her attention on the task at hand, wand at ready.  _The story begins._

The large man started muttering curses under his breath. "I told the boy to stay in his cupboard!" He cursed darkly, veins throbbing in his neck.

Lyanna's eyes darkened. _Merlin, don't let it be one of those stories._

She followed the whale of a man, as he rushed to the door, fumbling for the keys in his hands.  _He better stays away from the kid!_

The song had stopped now, and instead, a loud bawling of an infant reached their ears.  _What the heck?!_

The muggle stopped, looking perplexed, and glanced at his wife, who looked scared. He jammed the keys into the lock and turned.

A small boy, no more than 9, wearing horribly faded baggy clothes was gripping a bicycle, whose handle seemed to be twisted at an awkward angle. His eyes looked comically wide in those ugly round glasses. Several boxes were lying scattered across the floor.  _Hmm,_   _way too thin and shabby for a protagonist,_ Lyanna thought, growling under her breath.

She sensed a movement towards the kitchen. A fuzzy displacement in space, inhuman shape, partially corporal. _It's a poltergeist!_  She barely stopped herself from saying it out loud.

KLUNK!

The young wizard was looking like a hufflepuff who had just made an Unbreakable Vow to kick Severus Snape in the face while calling Gryffindor the best house.

"WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT NOT BLOWING UP THE HOUSE?!" the whale bellowed.

 _Oh no, you won't do anything!_ She would break his ugly neck first.

"Happy birthday, Dudley." The baby whale was looking like a 3-year-old who had just lost all his toys.

She sensed a presence picking up a camera and carrying it to the kitchen.  _Definitely a poltergeist._

"Say CHEESE," the poltergeist shouted, and then started laughing hysterically on clicking the photo. She smirked despite her anger. It did create a pretty amusing picture.

"AAAAHHHHHH, there's a ghost, there's a ghost, there's a GHOST!" The baby whale ran outside the house, followed by his pale mother and his swollen father. The scrawny boy came running a few moments later, keeping a distance from others.

"It's not a ghost. It's a poltergeist." A voice came from thin air.

The boy jumped and fell on to his butt whimpering, and a shrill squeak escaped his mother.

Lyanna rolled her eyes and removed the disillusionment charm from them. "Don't worry. We are not ghosts," she said appearing in thin air.

The muggles were looking like house elves who had not followed their master's orders. The baby whale had fainted, unable to handle any more birthday surprises. She laughed.  _This story is getting amusing._

The mother screamed, "Dudley! Dudley! Sweetie, are you okay?!" She pointed her finger at them. "What have you done to him?!" came her invasive shrill voice.

She waved her wand to cast a barrier around the house, while Norman, who was looking amused, explained to the hysterical mother, "He's alright, I reckon. Looks like the shock was too much for him." He said, stroking his beard. Lyanna interrupted her casting and glanced at him. "Can't be a heart attack, could it? I don't think kids can get them… But, then, I haven't seen a kid this plumpy… Nah, he'll be alright." The only problem with Norman was that he wasn't funny, especially when he wanted to be.

"We are from the Spirit Division of the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in the Ministry of Magic," He continued as if it was the most important department in the ministry. He waited for some sign of recognition.

The muggle looked like he had swallowed a pint of his own piss, and the woman, if it was possible, looked even more scared. The skinny boy who was blinking his eyes owlishly, and kept pinching his arm asked, "Are you like, Ghostbusters?" And then exclaimed, as if on second thought, "What to do you mean by  _magic_?!"

The whale interjected before Norman could reply, "I demand, sir, that you do whatever you came to do. Do your hokey pokey, and rid us of whatever abomination is in the house. After that, I have to ask you to leave us alone, and not say a word of this freakishness!"

Lyanna gave a cold laugh. "You demand! Do we look like someone from whom you can demand?" She asked pointing her wand at him. He spluttered, scrambling back, barely preventing himself from falling on the baby whale.

Lyanna glimpsed at Norman, trying to relay that she wasn't serious. They weren't exactly allowed to do that, but the muggle was getting on her nerves. Norman, however, was staring transfixed at the bespectacled kid. She would have been chastened if it had been her old supervisor.

She turned to the cause of this chaos. He was looking at her wide-eyed, his mouth agape. She resumed as if it was business as usual. "Ghost busters? You could say so. But as Norman," she gestured to her partner, "was saying before, the spirit in your house is a poltergeist."

She paused before continuing, "A poltergeist is a nature spirit which loves to create chaos, as evident from our situation." She waved her arms for illustration. "It usually manifests in children's homes where chaotic energy is abundant and is repressed. It is extremely rare for a Poltergeist to appear in muggle homes with just one magical child though, as was the case here. And yes," she said conspiratorially, leaning close to him, "magic exists. There's a wholly different magical world out there." She got a good look at the protagonist's face and gaped.  _Merlin's saggy pants!_

Everyone was silent for a while, before Harry Potter, who was now receiving two glares and two amazed stares, spoke up, "Umm, what exactly do you mean by a magical child... or a mogul?"

It took a few moments before realization hit her like a ton of bricks. This boy, the Boy-Who-Lived! the savior of the freaking wizarding world! didn't know anything; about himself, or magic, or about his fame. She glanced at his family, who looked absolutely petrified. And these… MUGGLES were his family! Norman looked equally gobsmacked besides her… _How on Earth! Holy Morgana with Merlin's wand! Crapshoot on top of a crapshoot! What da hell!_

Norman muttered, "He is the boy who lived." And as if truly realizing it, said loudly, "He is the boy-who-lived!"

It was several long seconds until Lyanna composed herself.  _Well, this story got a whole lot interesting._  For the first time since... she didn't remember the last time a happening had enliven her so. She instantly recognized this opportunity as a slytherin's wet dream. She asked herself what she should do now. Norman was her senior, but she needed to take charge of the situation.  _He is the boy-who-lived!_ She didn't want to imagine what he must be thinking of them gaping like this at him _._ She began, "Harry…" she cleared her throat, and began again, "Umm, I know this day has been quite unusual for you, and you must have lots of questions. But there's a more pressing problem looming in the house. Can these questions wait till we solve the problem?" She hoped she sounded friendly to him, and then winced.  _Stop it! He is just a little kid!_

Harry Potter could only nod.

"I am afraid, I must ask you to go back in the house," she said in her usual routine, taking in the panicked expression of the Boy-Who-Lived. "A poltergeist only appears in the vicinity of the primary magical source, one who caused the disturbance. We can only capture it in your presence."  _Think quickly!_

The boy was looking at the house frightfully. "I'm not going back in there. The source could be any of them," he pointed to the muggles. "You can take any of them."

The boy-who-lived's  _family_  had horrified expressions on their faces.  _There was something wrong with the situation._ But for the life of her, her mind wouldn't cooperate.  _Ok, next step._ "These  _muggles_ are not capable. You, Harry, are different, better. Don't worry, Poltergeists are not dangerous. Think of them as pranksters who just like to play pranks. And we'd be in there protecting you."

Harry Potter needed just slight persuasion after that, "No one has ever been harmed by a poltergeist… at least physically."  _What are the possibilities here?_

It was an alien and surreal scene for Lyanna as they went inside. The sun had dipped lower, and the street lights were turning on. Numerous thoughts were crashing inside her head obscuring her way – about Harry Potter, about how he knew nothing, about his family being abusive. What was Dumbledore's deal? What is the ministry playing at? There was a confluence of these thoughts with other parallel thoughts – her connections in the ministry, the scandals it would cause, the chaos. Still more thoughts were coming into play originating from her feelings and the emotions bubbling up inside her – anger at the muggles, pity, and gratefulness for the boy who lived, excitement at the potential outcomes, a chance of escaping her mundane job, anxiousness at the possible repercussions, disbelief at Dumbledore. All these thoughts worked together feeding her the answer.

And as usual, in situations like this, it is what you identify with, that decides the outcome. Lyanna's inner Slytherin started plotting.

She matched up Dumbledore against the Ministry, tried to find opportunities in the scandals and chaos, thought of advantages and disadvantages of spreading the news for herself… and for the savior of the wizarding world.


	2. The Precautionary Contract

Chapter 2 - The Precautionary Contract

* * *

_It is what our goal is that drives us. What drives us defines our life. Choose a modest goal, and you will not fulfill your potential. Chose a goal too grandiose, your mind can rebel against your best interests. Of course, it all depends on your ability to choose your means. The means and the goal are not separate. They are at the same level, defining each other, intricately connected to each other._

_My goal was very simple – to escape the clutches of the Dursleys. The means I had were non-existent, through no fault of my own. Goal accomplished. Now what? It isn't a real goal. It's an interlude to the main plot._

* * *

The three magical beings entered the house in silent steps. Harry had a lot of questions running through his mind, most of which he couldn't quite put into words yet. The events of the day replayed before his eyes, right from the beginning, and now... what was happening? What was he doing? He found it all so…  _dreamlike._ _I have to be dreaming!_ His left arm was going to be so bruised later from all the pinching that he had done. He even questioned the efficacy of the technique. Would he even wake up from a dream if he did that? But all that felt secondary to what was lying ahead. There was no way that there existed ghostly creatures that came from children's chaotic energy or something. There was no way the world worked like that! Yet, he kept on falling back, terrified of meeting the newly christened – poltergeist again, no matter how harmless it was proclaimed to be. Something like that couldn't be harmless even in his dreams, and he liked his dreams nice and fun.

The dull, boring, and utterly normal house looked as real as it had ever looked. This was in total contrast to the woman wearing a dull black robe pointing a black stick at the living room. She whispered, "Lumos." Harry blinked. That inexplicably resulted in the end of the stick lighting up with a white glow, illuminating the dim shadowy room. His stomach did summersaults at the sight _._ She flicked the stick, sending the white ball of light flying smoothly to the ceiling, throwing beams of light all across.  _This was… magic?_ Then his brain supplied a truly elating thought.  _Didn't they say that he was different from his family? What does that mean?_

The day had been very unusual, full of unease and fear. But Harry now couldn't help but feel that he was being led through a door, one offering change, and an emotion lingered within, one that was seldom experienced – hope.

"Go ahead, Harry Potter. The poltergeist will appear soon," said the man, discouraging him further. Although wary of any further surprises, he steeled his will and stepped forward into the ruined hall.

SWOOOSH. His daring didn't go unrewarded, as he soon saw water swooping in on him from mid-air. He screamed and tried to duck but wasn't on time. SPLASH… and he wasn't drenched. A shimmering barrier stood in front of him. He careened back, and the barrier followed him.

"Now, Lyanna," the man whispered. She took out a small pouch from the inside of her robes, put her hand in its mouth, and said something. A shining black oval stone was in her hand, the size of a peanut. He watched with bated breath as she released the stone mid-air. The stone left her palm and floated in the air. Despite himself, despite being terrified at the thought of the poltergeist, he stared transfixed at the scene. All of a sudden, she jabbed her stick towards him. A sharp prickling sensation in the index finger of his left hand made him jerk his hand back. A drop of blood slid down his finger and floated towards the hovering stone. He saw the tiny drop spread to cover the oval stone, shining as the rays of light hit it from the ceiling. It looked mesmerizing _. No, it looked_ _magical._

The blood-red stone followed Lyanna as she began an advance towards the middle of the room. WHOOSH! Several more toys were flung at them and water rushed in streams from all directions. The man started flicking his stick hastily, producing barriers to protect them from the projectiles.

She glanced towards her colleague. "This is the place, right?"

The mage just nodded and kept casting spells to protect them from whatever was being thrown at them.

Harry's heart kept thundering.

The stone floated to the center of the room as she pointed her stick at it and chanted, "Spiritum Captum Saxis Hostilem Esse Ducunt Ad!" Her voice took on an eerie tone as she made complex motions with her stick. Dark-purple rays, feeling menacing and deathly, began to emit from the stone and extended into the room.

His emotions were in disarray as he watched what was transpiring. Lyanna motioned for him to come forward. Feeling as if he had no other choice, he acquiesced and the glow began to stretch towards him.

His fear turned to dread as the glow connected to his stomach. His whole body wanted to recoil at the sinister touch, but something held his body in place. A loud wail echoed in the hall, seeming to originate from behind the television. The dark glow tracked the wail as if pouncing on a prey.

Harry watched with half-lidded eyes as an airborne figure appeared behind the television. It looked…  _colorful_. It was small, about the size of a human baby, with blue skin. It was bizarrely wearing a black suit with a white shirt, and black pants. As if it wasn't already over the top, it also wore orange pointy boots, a red tie, and a large, for its size, cowboy hat. Its green eyes were big and round, and his chubby cheeks had green lightning bolt marks. Although Harry had never seen anything like it, it looked uncomfortably familiar.

It clung to the TV stand to stop itself from being hauled. Lyanna, who had beads of sweat trickling down her eyebrows, thrust her stick towards it. The TV stand toppled, crashing the TV on the floor, and Harry felt his heart stop for a second.

The glow encased the poltergeist and started dragging it towards the stone. It howled and screamed as it got closer to the dark stone, the sound of which made Harry wince.

He could feel the poltergeist getting more desperate, the more it got closer. A wave of energy pulsated through the room as Lyanna gave a cry of protest, pushing the poltergeist aggressively into the repulsive stone. Harry felt an eerie moment of disorientation as the poltergeist's body started diffusing into the stone, like water vanishing in a sponge. A wave of fatigue passed through him and he fell to his knees.

Lyanna let out a sigh of relief. Harry was staring at the stone as if entranced by it. It had turned to a shiny emerald color. He should have felt relieved at the capture of the poltergeist, but all he could feel was a dull numbness and an urge to scream. 

Lyanna picked up the stone and let out, "Whew, I didn't think it'd be so taxing."

"Holy Morgana, that was something," Norman whistled. "Mr. Potter… are you alright?"

Harry, still feeling a little weighed down, nodded dumbly. "Will you please explain what the heck is happening?! What is that stick? Why are you wearing those clothes? What was all of this? What… what… who are you?!"

Norman glanced at Lyanna, who shrugged. "Well, how to explain this? Mr. Potter, we are wizards, people who can do magic. We live separately from muggles, people who can't do magic. You…" he paused, looking at the top of his head, "are a wizard too."

Harry's mind was racing. The wizard stopped his explanation, giving him some time to absorb the information. Just as Harry tried to open his mouth, he continued, "I know this is all very unusual to you, but believe me, you'll get used to all of this within days of joining our world."

Interrupting Harry's question once more, he said, "I know you have many questions, but we'll get to those in time. First, we need to take care of the poltergeist. Are you ready?"

 _They took care of the poltergeist, didn't they?_ Again, he had no choice except to nod.

"A poltergeist is a magical spirit. It cannot be destroyed unless its source is destroyed. Even if seemingly killed, it will reform near the original source, which is you… However, you have nothing to be worried about. It is now trapped and powerless. As long as you keep this stone in your possession, it can't break out."

 _OK_ … He felt like he had met his limit of learning life-changing things for the day. He added some new rules to CRUEL (Crucial Rules for Upbeat and Extended Life) – never lose the stone and learn to use magic at all costs. A few moments passed before he realized what he was being asked.  _Always keep the stone with me? For my whole life?! What the heck?!_

"At all times?! That's insane. I can't always keep a look at it!" He switched his gaze between the two. "Isn't there some magic that can help me to, you know, keep track of it?" He asked hopefully.

It was Lyanna who answered, "There are many spells, not that you will be needing them. The stone will be undetectable to anyone except you, and rest assured, you won't lose it. We can attach it on some sort of charmed jewelry which you can wear all the time. It can be a ring, an earring, a locket, or whatever you want. There are charms to make it impossible for anyone else to remove it." She considered for a moment. "I think we can make a nice pretty ring off of it, don't you? Excuse me for a moment." She took out the pouch again from within her robes, and said "rings". A whole bunch of loose rings jumped into her hands.

"Choose the one you like the most."

 _I'll have to wear a magical ring now, one which will contain a poltergeist!_ That sounded kinda cool. "Others won't be able to see it?" Harry asked looking at them.

"Only those who know of it can sense it."

Harry picked the first one he liked, a simple silver-colored ring.

"A silver ring with an emerald stone. I like it!" Lyanna said smiling.

"I personally like the black one," Norman muttered.

"Meh, black would look good too, but don't you think this is much better? The green matches your eyes, not that anyone can see it. How you feel about it is what matters, though," she said as she waved her stick, which made the stone attach to the head of the ring.

Harry took the proffered ring nervously. It felt strange weighing more than it looked. He decided that he liked it. He could almost sense another presence in it. A scene of the poltergeist escaping to wreak havoc when Dudley's Aunt Marge came for a visit flashed in his mind.

"Is there any way it can escape?"

"As Norman said, you have nothing to worry about. After a while you won't even notice it," Lyanna replied.

Harry felt an urge to break out into a laugh. Here he was wearing a ring which jailed a poltergeist, a  _magical spirit,_ which could escape if he wasn't careful, and he had nothing to worry about.

He glanced at the door.  _As if I don't have enough things on my back. But..._

"Is that stick necessary for doing magic?"

"This is a wand, not a stick. Never call it a stick, or you will offend someone," she laughed. "And no. It isn't necessary; magic manifests itself in many ways – you can use magical artifacts, potions, animagus transformation, mind magic, and of course there's wandless magic, but it is extremely difficult. You name the form and you can use magic with it. A wand just makes it easier to do magic, kind of like using fire to cook food. But that isn't what you want to ask, is it? Want to know whether you can do magic?"

His eagerness must have shown in his fervent nod.

"Well, you definitely can, and you will. Soon. You'll learn all about it when you'll go to Hogwarts… the magic school. But there are a lot of things you need to know-" She was interrupted by a timid knock on the door.

"Hey, how long till you are finished?" came the gruff complaint from his uncle.

She looked at the door and then at him. "But first, let's give the muggles something to think about, shall we."

She waved her wand. Harry jumped as loud sounds erupted all over the living room and the kitchen. His aunt and uncle must surely be cowering back to the garden, which was confirmed by Aunt Petunia's fading screams.

Norman gave her a pointed look when she laughed. "Before we start, let's clean up the mess it made," he said.

She nodded, and both simultaneously moved their wands in a sweeping motion and said, "Repairo." Everything in the house started moving. Broken pieces flew in the air joining together with the pieces that made them whole, as they returned to their original places, places the wizards definitely couldn't have known. Broken toys started reforming, returning to the center of the hall. The TV repaired itself. The bicycle's handle straightened, and it moved smoothly and parked itself near the toys. Water from the floor vanished. The camera flew from the kitchen and moved to its original position. Even his glasses slipped off from his nose and repaired themselves. Everything in the house looked just how Dursleys would have wanted it to. Except for the three of them of course.

Harry was looking at this with his mouth agape.  _You can repair broken stuff with magic! And they don't even look tired._ _What else can I do with magic?_ He wondered. He had to ignore the impulse to jump and laugh uproariously.

A thought entered his mind, "Wait a second." He ran to his cupboard and brought out some of Dudley's old stuff that was now his – his broken crayons, pens and pencils, his frayed books, his withered school bag, his torn clothes.

"Can you fix this?" He looked at them hopefully.

"Sure, why not? What's this, your old stuff?" Lyanna asked.

"Um, yeah…"

She silently waved her wand again, and Harry watched the miracle unfold before his eyes.  _Yeeeass!_

"That's brilliant! You guys must never need to buy new things! Or maybe you can create your own things through magic! Wait… can you also fix my bed, and the light-bulb in my cupboard?" Harry regretted it as soon as he said it. He didn't really mean to say it, but his excitement got the better of him.

Norman sighed, "Yes, no problem, Harry."

Harry reluctantly led them to his cupboard.

* * *

Harry was sitting on the couch looking gobsmacked, feeling like he had been hit by one bombshell after another. Norman and Lyanna, who were still occasionally casting murderous glares at the cupboard, were sitting in front of him in two armchairs.

Harry had sat on the couch with the fervent hope that he would finally learn what the hell was going on, and about magic, how to learn it, and whether he would be able to go to that school, especially when he had no money. Things had been looking up for him. He had always dreamt that someone, some distant relative would come and take him away. He had looked for ways to change his wretched existence. The sooner the better. The quickest way was to run from the Dursleys. The better way perhaps was to lay his head down, study and get a job.

But now… out of all things… magic, being everywhere, hidden from the common public, like this was some fantasy story. And there was more – his parents were a witch and a wizard too, just like him. There was a whole new magical world out there, and he belonged there. He had money and would get his admission letter to the magic school soon. An owl would deliver him his letter. And this wasn't a dream.

And then there was even more, making things even more surreal. He was famous! Yes, like a hero of the fantasy story.  _Him!_ Because he killed some super bad dark lord, You-Know-Who, who was so evil that people were still afraid to use his name, even after his death. When he pushed for the name of the person he had apparently killed, they reluctantly told him that he was called Voldemort. And like this was a supervillain in the fantasy story, on 31st October, 10 years ago, he came to his house and killed his parents, who hadn't died in a car crash. Wizards don't travel by cars. It is acceptable in the magical world to refer to a wizard and a witch as wizards and not witches. When Voldemort tried to kill him too, he killed Voldemort by not being killed by the killing curse. And this still wasn't a dream. He was numb by that point.

 _You are the only one to survive the killing curse._ He, who was dressed in these rags, who lived in a cupboard, who was constantly shouted at, and had no friends, didn't feel so special.

All three of them were silent for a while. Harry, pondering on who he was, and the other two looking at him curiously wanting to see how he'd take it.

"I…," he cleared his throat. "Was my family… is this the only family I have?"

"James Potter was the last of the Potters. If I were to guess, you were taken to the closest relatives you had on your mother's side," Norman answered. He was quiet for a moment. "Say, Harry, tell us about your relatives. On first glance, they seem like a work of art."

Harry paused. Whenever someone asked this, he replied with the opposite of what came to his mind. There would have been hell to pay if the Dursleys ever found out the truth. But he was now talking to different people, of a different world, about which he knew nothing, and of which he was supposedly a savior. And after that display when he showed them the cupboard... he didn't know. Maybe, that CRUEL rule was no longer necessary. He chose to stick to the truth.

"They are a work of art of a crap artist, alright. They are awful. I wouldn't want to see them if they were the last ones left in this world. No one would."

They were silent, but their body language told Harry everything they weren't saying.

"Did they – I think I am going to have a word with them, Norman," Lyanna said furiously.

He nodded. "That's what I was thinking. But, with restraint," he said pointedly.

"Even if they deserve it?! Which, you know they absolutely do."

"They are still under the jurisdiction of our law, Lyanna. We, most of all, should uphold it."

"I know, I know.  _These laws made for our own protection!_ I can see why they were drafted to help us. Merlin forbid, we misuse our magic on these vile people, even if to save one of our own, somehow causing the downfall of our world on the way." She huffed. " _If_  I find out that they'd done  _anything_  else, even  _Dumbledore_  won't be able to save them, these draconian laws be damned."

Norman sighed. "Harry, was there anything else you wanted to add or ask?"

Harry felt that a normal thing to do was to get offended by them talking about his family like that in front of him. But he wasn't normal, was he? And for the first time, he was glad for it. Not wanting to elaborate further though, he asked what was lingering on his mind, "You said a letter would arrive for me soon, and a school's professor would come to take me to buy magic things? When exactly would that be?"

"You want to leave this place soon, huh? Your acceptance letter will arrive in about a month or so. Soon after a professor would arrive to prepare you for the new term that will start on September 1st."

Harry was glad to hear that, but his eyes still fell. That meant he'd have to wait another month. He would probably be punished till then by his family.

"Listen, Harry," Norman said, "you never have to worry about your family again. Hell, you shouldn't worry about anything. You are the bloody boy-who-lived for crying out loud!... I'm sorry you were left with these people. But, rest assured, they will never… they will leave you alone from now on," he muttered something under his breath. "And you will have a new room tonight."

Never one to look at a gift horse in the mouth, Harry accepted this readily. "Thank you," he said in a small voice. He doubted that any words could convey the depth of gratitude that he was feeling.

"No need to thank us, Harry. We are just doing our jobs," Lyanna said.

Harry nodded, still looking at them reverently.

"And as for the month-long wait, believe me, that's nothing. Most of the other students have to wait for that moment their entire life, dreaming of it every day. When the time finally comes, the wait is what makes the experience all the more precious. But in the meanwhile, I do believe I have something for you that will keep you occupied,"

Lyanna took out her magic pouch again, and said "Gilderoy Lockhart". A large book appeared in her hand.

 _Was this a magic book?!_ His hands were shaking as he took the book. He saw a blonde man, wearing golden robes, standing proudly on its cover, posing like a model. His eyes widened. The picture was moving and winking at him. He felt a little unsettled looking at the wide grin. He had never seen anyone look so happy. He looked at the title – "Magic Gilderoy Lockhart Didn't Learn at Hogwarts".

"I am not one to judge a book by its cover, but in this case, the book totally matches the cover." Norman coughed, while Lyanna continued," It's a detailed description of magic and the insights the author had on different kinds of magic taught at Hogwarts at different points of his Hogwarts's education. Any wizard worth his galleons knows these points. It will give you a nice glimpse into Hogwarts and what to expect there, but I have to warn you - it'd be very difficult for you to grasp right now or in the next few years."

 _A gift... And that too a magic book!_ He must have looked like a puppy would when you offer it a treat. He knew what he'd be doing every moment of every day for the next month.

When he tried to thank her, she waved it off and said, "I've personally learned a lot from it, and I have no doubt the practices and theories listed here will prove invaluable to you at Hogwarts. Not that it is essential, of course, but one would be a fool to not make use of it."

"Thank you," he said again. He didn't think any of Dudley's gifts could ever be better than this.

"No need to thank us, Harry," she smiled. "It is we who should be thanking you. The entire wizarding world is indebted to you for what you did for us."

He looked at her awkwardly and then averted his eyes. He wasn't used to being praised, or even looked at kindly, especially for something he didn't understand.

She pointed her wand at the book and waved it. "There, the book will look like one of your old notebooks to the muggles."

"Lyanna, I think it's about time we leave," Norman said pointing to the clock.

"Oh... yeah. I didn't realize it was so late already."

He took out a long brown paper and a quill from his pouch. "Mr. Potter, if that's all, there's one final thing you need to do. We need you to sign this."

Harry reluctantly looked away from the smiling figure on the book and took the quill. They had told him that they were from the magical government. It looks like in the magical world too they had to keep records or some sort of work log.

"Umm, don't I need some ink to write with this?"

"This is a special quill," was all he said.

Just as he was about to sign it, Lyanna interjected, "That is simply not done, Harry. You should have asked us what this contract is for."

"Come on, Lyanna. Let him be. He is just a child."

"He is Harry Potter for Merlin's sake. If there's anyone in the world who should be prepared, it is him."

"You slytherins!" He made an exaggerated motion as if to say, "go ahead."

She threw a displeased look at her partner and then turned to him. "In the magical world, you never sign anything anyone gives you without reading it carefully, and then too only signing if it's absolutely necessary. Imagine what a magical contract can do to you. The reality could be even worse," Lyanna explained staring his directly in the eyes.

Harry stared at her unintelligibly. The thought hadn't even entered his mind. "Umm, ok." He would try to remember this. He just hoped he hadn't missed any other important stuff told to him today. He pointed the quill where Norman had indicated.

Lyanna cleared her throat. He looked at her questioningly. She stared at him.  _Was he missing something, or do they also get flu in the magical world?_

He went back to the task.

"Don't you have something to ask us?"

Harry paused.  _Couldn't it wait after he had signed the paper?_

"Um, yes. There are loads of questions I want to ask you. I don't know where to start. What kind of–"

"Anything related to this  _contract_ ," Lyanna interjected, staring at him with a twitch on her lips.

Searching for what she was looking for, he looked at the paper and blushed. "Why should I sign this paper?" he asked, too embarrassed to look at their faces.

Norman interjected, "This is taking too long. Mr. Potter, this whole process of capturing a poltergeist is considered extremely confidential by the ministry. After signing this  _parchment,_ not paper, you are magically contracted to the ministry to never divulge the information about the poltergeist to anyone. Like Lyanna told you, you should read the contract carefully. It's not like we are not already running late."

Harry rolled the parchment. The contract was long! She nodded at his questioning glance. He sighed and read through the parchment. It described over and over what he had been told, just using different words, many that he didn't understand. The consequences of breaking the contract would be imprisonment at Azkaban, whatever it was, for varying terms depending on the severity of the breach. Disclosing it to another wizard resulted in a 7-year term, to a house elf resulted in a 1-year term, to a muggleborn resulted in a 15-year term, and the list went on. That didn't sound good to him. Why was all this so confidential? He felt the answer would just raise more questions, especially since it was all so completely alien to him.  _Well, it's not like I'd ever break it anyway._ Half an hour later, he was finished.

"What's Azkaban?" Harry asked after signing the contract. He thought he would feel something, some sort of sensation like he did when the poltergeist was captured, but he didn't.

"It's the magical prison. It's the last place anyone would ever want to be," Norman said as he collected the parchment and placed it in a file where it acrobatically folded and inserted itself to one of the slabs.

"Let's handle that family of yours now."

* * *

What happened next was in line with how the day was shaping up to be. After inviting Dursleys into their own house, they were explained, rudely, how the poltergeist was now destroyed and they should never utter a word about it to anyone. They were also threatened, harshly, that the Ministry of Magic has added this house to their list of potent magical sites and it'd be under constant supervision. Then the topic turned to their treatment of him and about the cupboard in particular. Gone was the nice, sweet witch. Even Harry had a trickle of sweat underneath his brows after she was done. Some demonstrations of magic later, even Uncle Vernon was cowering like a pack of sheep would in front of ravenous wolves. It felt good to be on the other side for once. He could certainly understand the appeal of it.

When Norman and Lyanna left, after multiple reassurances, Harry had a brief staring contest with his family, which he didn't lose. If he had beaten the most powerful dark lord this century, then he certainly wouldn't back down to these… what did Lyanna call them? Oh yes, worthless muggles. He was ordered to shift his possessions to Dudley's second bedroom. Harry did so after muttering another "Happy Birthday" to a still bawling Dudley. It took him one round to shift his things upstairs, and another 30 minutes to clean the room. There were too many things that Dudley had broken or didn't like now, that were thrown across the room.

That night, Harry was sitting in a chair sifting through the book gifted to him trying hard to understand any of it, when he was visited by an owl for the first time. At first, he had thought that the poltergeist had escaped again, but then remembered that in the wizarding world, his world, owls were actually used for long-distance communication. It tapped the window with its legs. He was excited when he opened the windows.  _I am a wizard._ He paid complete attention to the owl, which looked at him owlishly. She gave a hoot, which somehow communicated her annoyance, and jerked her leg towards him. There was a letter tied to it. Harry carefully untied the letter and opened it eagerly.

_Harry,_

_Just checking up on you after the round with your relatives. I want to know if anything of consequence occurred after we left._

_Send me your reply at once using the owl that delivered this. I will know if you are lying - I can do magic._

_Also, feel free to ask the questions bothering you, of which, I know, there are many._

_Your friend,_

_Lyanna Traymere_

A warm, gentle feeling resided within him long into the dark of the night. He was extremely grateful for the help she was offering. If Lyanna and Norman were any indications, he was going to love the wizarding world. He looked at the new ring on his finger after he finished his letter. It was quite beautiful. He opened the coloring book in which he used to draw when he was little. There, on one of the pages, it was smirking. "You were a lot of trouble, you know. But I guess I should be thanking you."

For the first time in many days, Harry slept with a smile on his face. His dreams were wild and frantic and venturous, and were as quick to disappear in the lapses of time as most of his dreams. In the end, he was quite glad that a poltergeist came to haunt him.

* * *

Lyanna walked leisurely to her current office, one that she shared with Norman. She was absolutely thrilled with how the day went. She had stepped out of her bounds at times today, but she didn't think Norman was going to report anything. Today was the momentous day of her life if there ever is one. She couldn't believe her fortune. She had just met Harry Potter and not just met him, she had left her mark. She knew people who'd kill for such an opportunity. Here was the most famous wizard of the wizarding world, one who would be a very important figure in the future for sure, and he knew nothing. Absolutely nothing. He didn't have anyone to confide in or look up to. He knew nothing about the rules of the game, or what was expected of him. Admittedly, he was just about to start his Hogwarts education, but still, he was Harry Potter! At his age, she was already planning her way to the top; such was the way among Slytherin circles. And here he was, handed all the face cards one could ever need. It blew her mind that no one had tried to get on to his good side and ride his coattails for any of their personal self-serving agenda.

The situation begged the question – what should she do now? This might be the most important thing she would ever get to do.  _I have finally drawn a winning hand on the turn._ It was up to her to now capitalize on it. She had already taken the first step – to establish the correspondence, the initiation as they called in Slytherin circles, giving him something valuable, something useful. The letter today will be the catalyst for establishing further communication with him. She was sure he'd appreciate someone to answer the questions he was bound to have.  _And_   _well, there's nothing wrong with using him to accomplish my personal self-serving agenda._

Her letter had reached today, but there were bound to be some wards intercepting his mails. She would have to check up on them. She would wait and see how he'd react, and then she'd act accordingly. But, she was already writing another long letter in her mind, one that should knock down whatever delusions he has about the wizarding world and about his place in it. The wizarding world wasn't all roses and glitter, as the little hero was no doubt imagining. It should also cement her place as one of his well-wishers. _And when I penetrate up to his comfort level..._   _Well, no one else would be able to do so._  It was when she reached the office that her ruminations ended, and she was hit with a mental jolt.

Sitting on a chair, was a tall old man with horribly flamboyant robes, and a large white mustache, humming a tune that she didn't recognize (Ghostbusters), and solving crosswords in the Daily Prophet.

He beamed at her when she entered and spread his arms. "Ms. Traymere! I just arrived here. It's good to see you looking so particularly jolly... rather, you were before you saw me."

She forced herself to smile, certain that he could see through it. She wondered again, as she had countless times before, how he always looked so genuine. "I was just surprised, Headmaster. It's good to see you too. What brings you here?" She had a nagging suspicion about why he was here. _Don't be an i_ _diot._ It was not a suspicion. She could think of just one reason why he was here, and it brought up a bitter taste in her mouth.  _There are always other players in the game. How could you forget?!_

"I am glad. I don't want to take much of your time, as I'm sure you have some very important paperwork to do. But, ahh, what do they say, not everyone gets what they deserve, or something like that anyway. I must be getting old. Come sit, we have a lot to discuss," he said as if it was his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it :). Next chapter will be out soon.


	3. Accidents With Magic

Chapter 3 – Accidents With Magic 

 

* * *

_My story only makes sense in retrospect. It was not an overcoming of odds that I thought before nor was it the charge against cruelty that came after. I can see it so clearly now. It was the sum of instants, instants which called for me to choose. Each instant, simple or chaotic, disjointed or tied, intense or trivial, interlocked as a chain to form the whole. Each instant had a purpose – a purpose of leading to the vision. The past is gone now and the vision seems as distant as the stars. Whether I will attain it depends entirely on my readiness to learn moving forward. What will be the difference between the me now and the me at the end? Apart from some ordinary physical changes, just the way I think, which could be accurately described as the sum product of my beliefs and experiences. Each instant then, the one I consider good and the one I consider bad will be a call for me to choose correctly. Our life is all about our carrots and sticks, but where we err is in seeing all carrots good, and all sticks bad. Herein lies the problem. Too embroiled, and too disillusioned in our prejudiced way of thinking, we miss the obvious way._

_I was the same as all, a creature of habits conditioned by a persistent rebellion against the villains of my story. The bad guys tried to condition me to follow orders – I learned to break them. I was forced to never ask questions – it accentuated my curiosity. They tried to curb my imagination – it became my reprieve. They said no backtalk – it has never worked, has it? I suppose, in a way, I should be thanking the Dursleys… still, I had a lot to learn._

* * *

A month has passed since he had gone from a rag wearing freak to a freaking rag wearing savior of the world.

People observing No. 4 Privet Drive had easily noticed some changes. Lights in both the upper bedrooms could now be seen switched on in the evenings; the scrawny, boorish kid wasn't spending a far too disproportionate of a time in the kitchen as opposed to the stout one; now none of the kids were seen doing any chores; apparently the scrawny kid was now behaving judging from the lack of angry complaints from the generous couple who were kind enough to adopt him.

For Harry though, everything had changed. He lived in a different world - a world where magic was real and normal, and where he was famous, and where a magic book laid atop his bed proving all this still wasn't a dream. He was part of that world earlier too, he just didn't know it. And because he didn't know it, it wasn't real for him.

Suddenly, he wasn't affected when he was called a freak. Suddenly, he wasn't afraid of Dudley, or even Uncle Vernon. He didn't have to be silent when he had to go to the bathroom, or when he was eating, or when his relatives were talking. He didn't even have to wake up early now, but he did it anyway – he liked a little morning air, especially going to the park where people allowed him to play with their dogs.

His school had their final exams on the way. He had tried to do his best in the last couple of weeks and tried to outdo Dudley every chance he got. His teachers were surprised when the untidy, disheveled and imprudent boy suddenly started asking questions, answering questions and laughing whenever his cousin couldn't answer a question or was reprimanded. They were even more surprised when his grades showed some improvements.

A laugh escaped Harry when he thought of what had happened. He had predicted that he would be called out on it, and when asked about it in the class, he explained as he had practiced multiple times, "My cousin is not very smart, you see. His doctor told us that he has confidence issues because of his weight."

Smiling sheepishly, he added, "To help him with it, Aunt Petunia asked me to bring down my grades, and keep silent in the class. She even forbade me to tell my teachers about it – I don't know why she did that," he finished looking at Dudley with fake pity.

He remembered Dudley's confused face clearly as he added, "A week ago, Aunt Petunia told me to stop doing that because Diddykins's doctor said that it could further hinder his mental growth."

Dudley had turned red on hearing "Diddykins". And it turned out he had gotten the gist of what was said because he shouted, "You freak! I am not stupid!" looking exactly that.

The next day, Aunt Petunia had spent a long time in the principal's office and was sweating when she came out. Harry got an earful that night, but even that was toned down.

Dudley, in order to get back at him, tried to flaunt his gifts in the presence of Harry whenever given the chance. Dudley didn't know it, but he was actually more jealous of him for completely different reasons. The git didn't even realize the actual gifts he had. The evenings where he sat alone in his cupboard, or a room now, while the rest of his family were all together – eating a nice meal, or watching a movie, or gushing at Dudley's sub-par scores in school, were the times he desperately wished to be in Dudley's position. He never had someone close to him, someone to talk to, someone who would want to know how his day went or cared for how or what he did. He sometimes interjected cheeky comments or retorts that they wouldn't appreciate precisely for that sense of belonging, to prove that he mattered.

He had to repeat his most frequently used CRUEL rule to get himself out of that recurring funk – feeling sorry for yourself doesn't help.

He had received another letter from Lyanna a few days later. It was… long. It brought a total shift in his thoughts. What he was doing was absurd. What he was thinking was absurd. The whole situation was absurd. The Dursley's didn't matter at all.

_Hey Harry, how's it going? I felt really sorry for leaving you with no means of communication and with no one to consult to after being hit by what was probably the biggest bombshell of your life. I hope, though, the book I left with you is at least somewhat helpful. I know it can't answer most of the questions you had to be having. However, I promise, that stuff is a gold mine. It has some of the most unique insights and guidelines on magic that you can find. You will definitely get the hang of it by the time you hit your seventh year at Hogwarts. You are probably wondering why I am writing this letter. Well, I want to talk to you, but more importantly, I would like to advise you. You are Harry Potter and you don't know who Harry Potter is or how important he is. It would be a crime for you to rejoin our world without knowing some specific information. Information that you should have already known._

_You are Harry Potter. Just the other day I was thinking about our fateful encounter like I have been for the past two weeks. I had met HARRY POTTER, and anyone other than you could imagine how surprised I was to actually meet you and realize how different you were from their imaginary dark lord defeater, savior of young girls and killer of rogue dragons. Yes, you read that right. There are several fantasy books and plays about you in Wizarding Britain. I tried to put myself in your shoes and imagined what was the most useful advice I could give you. I couldn't even pinpoint five things. You can't imagine how mindboggling the situation is. I have been living in the wizarding world my whole life, and let me tell you, I am part of the most knowledgeable bunch here, and I have trouble imagining how the situation would pan out. You can't just stroll into our world like some common muggleborn. That would be disastrous, and a terrible waste. You are probably scratching your head right now, and I can't fault you for it._

_Well, where to begin? Let's start with what some would find the most contentious. I am from Slytherin, the most hated house at Hogwarts. The reason is hard to explain, and it is worth understanding as it explains a lot about our world. It is in part idiocy, part discriminatory, part vengefulness, part righteousness, part prejudice, and part prudence. To understand it properly you'd need to be much more mature than a young child can be expected to be. I can write a whole book explaining it but I will give you a brief overview as it is extremely critical in the wizarding world. It's something that no one is going to explain to you before you are plunged directly into the mix of biased opinions._

_Among those who oppose us, there is an opinion that most slytherins hate muggleborns and want to prevent them from joining our world; that most are Voldemort sympathizers and joined his forces; that most care heavily about the blood and family of the witch or wizard; that most want to remove the restrictions on dark magic, and prohibitions on using magic in muggle presence. If that was all true, they have the right to hate us. But only some of it is true, and that too for only some of its people, and that too only up to a certain degree. And those opinions are not specific only to slytherins._

_You have to understand, Harry, the wizarding world is an extremely divided place. Some people support the integration of muggleborns freely into our world without any restrictions, while some acknowledge the threat to our culture and safety if that were to be the case; some support the government control on magical research and its use for their own safety, while some believe it violates their basic rights and want liberal use of magic; some people support muggles and provision for the laws protecting them, while some think those laws are too extreme and believe muggles to be a dire threat to the wizarding world; some want to end the prevailing nepotism in the wizarding world, while some want to preserve the existing system. The list goes on, but you should by now get the gist of it. It's a war between emotion and reason, between change and preservation. There are two sides to a coin, and this hatred persists on both sides of the war. Disliking people not of the same opinion to us is the human story and our history._ _People endorsing this hate are creating divisions in the name of equality and freedom. They usually go about doing everything backward. Trying to do the wise thing without any wisdom, they end up tripping over themselves when things eventually fall apart, and then they blame everyone else for it._

_It is in fashion now to vilify these beliefs commonly associated with slytherins. When Voldemort stood for the extreme versions of those beliefs, most of his followers were to be found in Slytherin. So, yes there is a sensible reason for people not of the same opinion to hate slytherins. They feel threatened. They don't understand that slytherins feel threatened too. Harry, if I can teach you one thing, it'd be that no one is completely wrong and no one is completely right. Again, I reiterate, not all slytherins ascribe to those opinions, and not everyone in other houses opposes those beliefs. We slytherins pride ourselves on our intelligence. We are pragmatic, we are clever and probably more ambitious than what is good for us. Part of that involves taking advantage of any opportunity we get, and because of the way this world works, it's sometimes at someone else's expense. And people hate that. I have tried to be as unbiased as I could be, and yes, I said I'd make it brief, but alas. You have to form your own opinions, Harry._

_The same slytherin qualities tell me that there's a massive opportunity here._   _You have to understand how the world sees Harry Potter. You are the most famous wizard alive on the face of this planet. There are books written about you. You have been turned into a big fictional character fighting dragons, saving babies, and being a beacon for justice. Most of the wizards today adore you without knowing a thing about you, while some others probably hate you because they bought into the dark lord's ideals. Your image is an opposition to those ideals, and you still can't comprehend what those ideals are. I can tell how difficult this must be for you to grasp. This all must be so bizarre, so weird for you. I can imagine your brain turning to mush. But things only begin there. When you go into the wizarding world people will stare at you; they will stalk you; they will try to get on your good side, sometimes their motives will be benign, and the rest of the time they will try to take advantage of you._

_Take this as a piece of heartfelt and sincere advice. You will have to question yourself why people are doing what they are doing. Are they looking at you because you are famous, or because you have a bugger on your face? Don't believe everything people tell you. Form your own opinions. Try to put yourself in their shoes and question why they are doing what they are doing. This probably has never come to your mind, but you must believe what I am saying is true. You might also think it is difficult and probably wrong to think and act that way. You are just 10-years-old (Yes, we know when your birthday is. Some even celebrate it), and few that age are pragmatic and mature enough to do so. However, I believe you have been living on your toes for quite a while, and you have been doing just that when you have to interact with those muggles. You will have to start thinking objectively, to not take anyone's word for anything, and again, form your own opinions._

_You will act shadowing those opinions. Majority of the people don't understand or think about the consequences of their actions. Normally, it doesn't really matter, because it is just their own life that gets affected. But in your case, your actions will have far reaching consequences. People will pay attention to them. They will feel compelled to follow you. It can be a DISASTER for the wizarding world if you don't think about your actions or come under the influence of some power grabber trying to achieve his/her selfish goals. I will try to put some perspective on it. It will be extremely difficult for you to lead a normal life – you will be a huge celebrity at Hogwarts, you will often be a topic of conversation, and let me tell you, Hogwarts is a haven for rumor mongers. Half of the rumors in there will be about you, at least in your early years, and probably for all seven years depending on what you do. You are that famous. And then, when you enter the real world you will carry that image, that power, and that influence on your peers with you. All these things will depend on how you chose to act under the circumstances. And if you are thinking objectively, you can see what any proud slytherin can see – you are POWERFUL. How you act and behave will shape the thoughts, actions, and lives of many people. People will follow you, focus on you, and will even be obsessed with you. You have the potential to be one of the most important figures of the wizarding world capable of doing great things, shaping the future of the wizarding world for the betterment of its people, or you can be a pawn in someone else's grandiose scheme shedding more misery on the world. Just think about it._

_To think and plan effectively, you've got to know what you are working with, where you are working, and how it works. I want you to read our history, to know how our world is run and who runs it, and grasp how effective or dysfunctional it is. I want you to understand the ideologies that govern the wizarding world. I want you to believe that you have the power to change it. But, to do that, you have to understand our world, you have to feel for our world, you have to have the ambition and the desire to do so. You don't know anything about the life in our world, you don't know anything about what people do to earn their living, you don't know what they do to have fun or enjoy doing. You don't understand what people desire in our world, or anything about the challenges faced by the wizarding population, you don't understand anything about the cruelty, the corruption, the discrimination rampant in our world, or the things that threaten it. In a way, you are probably in the best position to realize this because you have not been socially conditioned and integrated into our culture, and you don't have strong ties to the muggle world. You are free from the barriers that hinder the realization of the hidden agendas and maladies of our world. It would be a shame to let this opportunity to pass. You have the power to achieve what other people desire to achieve, but don't have the power to. You've been gifted that power. If you so desire, you can change the lives of many people for the better, you can create a lasting impact on the wizarding world. I know you are failing to grasp it fully, and I don't expect you to. I just want you to think about it._

_I want you to relax. Let it sink in. Absorb it. Reread this letter until you think you understand what I am saying. You have a month and a half before joining Hogwarts. This is extremely important._

_Now, did you ask yourself what my motivations are for telling you all of this? Question everything, Harry. Always._

_Your well-wisher,_

_Lyanna_

* * *

The summer holidays had just started and things were starting to get a lot boring. There was nothing to occupy his time with. He had a magic book and a most illuminating letter, but you can't just read the whole day, even though he did try it.

Today, Harry had offered to make breakfast to Aunt Petunia, who had suspiciously declined. Harry just shrugged and sat at the table, where his uncle sat reading today's newspaper complaining that all the celebrities were so skinny. Dudley was wearing a ridiculous disciplinary outfit of his new school, which required students to carry a stick for the purpose of beating each other, which they said was supposed to make students tougher and be prepared for future hardships. Dudley's parents had forced into his mind that he looked very handsome and all grown up. That was one of the funniest things Harry had heard in a while. He had proposed to Dudley that he should wear it all the time.

They heard the sound from the mailbox clicking and the flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind the paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"What do you say?" Harry whispered. "I should go to pick the letters. Really!" he said excitedly. Harry had no problem picking up the letters, but he didn't mind ruffling the Dursleys. "The invisible wizards say that I should go get them." Harry got up from his seat before Uncle Vernon stopped him.

"No! Dudley, you go get the letter… Come on! … Get up!"

When he still didn't move, Harry said, "I can get a witch to pick it up. She is watching over the house."

Uncle Vernon had to hit Dudley with the stick before he moved his butt. When he came back, he threw the letters at Vernon, before rushing to his room.  _Was that an actual tear?!_ This is the first time he had seen him really cry. _I think_   _there is some merit to Stonewall's method of beating students with their sticks_.

As Harry ate his breakfast, he saw his uncle turning pale, suddenly holding a curled parchment. He looked at Petunia, who looked equally pale.  _The letter!_

"Petunia,  _IT_  has come. What should we do Pet?"

"What do you mean you should do? Give it to me, or else I am calling the wizard police," Harry threatened, standing straight trying to look tall.

"Give it to the boy, Vernon. He already knows about his freakishness, and… look at the address! They  _are_ stalking us!" she exclaimed in a shrill voice.

Vernon groaned and resignedly handed the letter to Harry, who couldn't hide his excitement. His Hogwarts letter was here. Hurriedly, he straightened it up and started reading.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

There was a second piece of paper, which listed the things and the books that would be required. Harry was already somewhat familiar with some of these things, having read about them in the book given to him by Lyanna. But it was a supplementary book, not an introductory text, and had left Harry confused many a times. It'd be great to read these books. He had many head-scratching questions about magic and its use. He hoped the books would answer those questions.

Now, the pressing question.  _What do they mean by "they await my owl?" Where would he get a frigging owl?!_

"I won't be paying any of my hard-earned money to make you learn any more of this fiendishness," Uncle Vernon muttered maliciously.

"There's no need really. My parents have already paid for me to learn magic. I will be gone on the 1st of September, and you'll only have to see me at the end of June," he tried to cheer them up.

And then added, "Aunt Petunia, do you remember how my mom sent her acceptance letter to Hogwarts? It says here that I should use an owl."

His aunt's lips curled in distaste. She replied, "I remember a teacher of your  _freak show_! He came uninvited to our house. Started floating things around to show how different he was – how  _better_  he was."

_Would a professor come here too?_ "Umm… do you know how I can send them an owl? I don't think a professor would come here."

They were looking at him indignantly now. " Call one of the freaks you talk to regularly."

He gave a reluctant nod. "I will. By the way, they can hear you."

They glanced at each other, and as one scurried to their bedroom.

Harry stared into the air with a heavy feeling in his gut.  _Ugh_ ,  _was this a test?_ Was he supposed to send the letter by a normal post office? There was no stamp on it. He was taught the way to reach the ministry people in case of an emergency, but he needed a wand to call them.

* * *

It was 8 in the afternoon when he got up from his bed. He had decided to read the magic book again. He had thought there would be some clues.

His mind was spinning. There were so many different ways to send something from one place to another. There were several fragments of text that hinted at the possibilities of magic that he hadn't noticed in his earlier reads of the book - Magic Gilderoy Lockhart Didn't Learn at Hogwarts. Maybe because he wasn't actually looking for them then. He started noting them in a notebook.

_Magic is the essence of our world, the defining agent. It is limitless, boundless and endless. Limitations abound only in the problems that we perceive in our mind. Magic accepts no problems and admits only our Imagination, which, like Magic, is limitless._

Harry recalled the amazing things that he had done previously that he couldn't explain. Turning a teacher's hair blue, shrinking a sweater, re-growing his hair, teleporting to the roof of his school. These memories had been circling his thoughts ever since he learned of magic. At the time, he wasn't aware of them, but he was sure that somehow, he had imagined them before they happened. He tried imagining an owl coming to pick a letter in many different ways - closing his eyes, joining his hands, thrusting his hands in the air. Nothing happened.  _Ugh!_

_Our Magic is shaped by our Will and Wisdom. Our Thought and Belief can combine into a power-surge that can literally move mountains. Let go of the thoughts that created the problem, and hear the Thoughts that know the answer. If you believe you can do it, you can do it. Our Wisdom is inherent – when you let go of the fear mongering and problem-creating self, you will be aware of your Wisdom._

Harry was confused. Wisdom? Knowing what is right, and what is not? That meant being smart, didn't it? Harry considered himself to be very smart. Of course, he only had the Dursleys as a measure so he could be wrong. He wrote his acceptance letter and willed it to appear at Hogwarts wherever they collected their letters. Then he willed desperately. Then he got on to his knees and willed. After an hour passed, the letter was still sitting firmly in front of him. What was the problem here? He read the note again. Thought and belief? How can he believe in something he hadn't done before? Thinking he can do it, and believing he can do it wasn't the same.  _Ugh!_

_Magic is integral to your life. You should be as intimate with Magic as you are with your Thoughts. Ask Magic to help you in trivial things. Ask it to help clean the room, ask it to help you dress, ask it to help clean your teeth, ask it to help when you are talking to someone. The more you ask for Magic, the more you can ask for Magic. Your unwillingness to make an effort has to be replaced by Willingness. No effort, however unsuccessful it seems, is ever wasted._

"Oh, Holy Magic, I ask you to deliver this letter for me… Magic! Listen to me asking for help." Harry was feeling very awkward. "Magic, please send me an owl… or send this letter to Hogwarts." Harry hesitated; he had no belief in what he was asking. Doing magic was difficult!  _Unwillingness should be replaced by willingness_. He tried again with a false conviction. He tried again.  _No effort is ever wasted._ At least, he was not wasting his time, according to the author. Harry seriously hoped this author wasn't a fraud like many muggle authors out there. He realized that he also had to believe in this author when he says that magic works based upon our belief in it.  _Ugh!_

_We use wands only because we have not found any alternatives to it. We have become so accustomed to using our wands to bend Magic to our Will, that it has bound our Will to it. That is the reason that children, whose Will runs free, are so prone to doing Wandless Magic. To learn something new, you have to forget your old false learnings. Wandless Magic is difficult because we think it is difficult._

It all came down to his willpower.  _It is difficult because we think it is difficult?_ This author really used a lot of mumbo-jumbos. At least the author was saying that a wand wasn't compulsory for this. Harry tried again. This. Wasn't. Working!

_The more you learn to control Magic, the more you can learn to control Magic. The only barriers to it are the control we have on the tools – our wands, the incantations, wand movements, Emotion, Imagination, Will, and Belief - using which we connect to Magic and control it. The wands the caster uses have limits on the amount of Magic that they can control, and have predilections to certain types of Magic. The incantations and wand movements help the caster to signify the Magic they want to use and align their Belief with it. But these incantations and wand movements have limits in their ability to represent the form of Magic. Your ability to control your Emotion, Imagination, Will, and Belief is limitless. These are the four pillars, on which improvements should be strived for in order to connect more to your Magic. There are potions, physical exercises, rituals, and techniques to help you achieve that. But, perhaps the most beneficial technique that I can recommend is meditation, which aids on all four levels._

He tried and tried and tried and tried all evening. He tried summoning an owl; he tried sending the letter on its own; he tried to transfigure an owl from a nearby book, even though he hadn't even seen a transfiguration yet. The more he failed the more frustrated he got. When he got frustrated, he realized that this would further prevent him from succeeding. Then he tried to control his frustration and got even more frustrated when he couldn't. He tried meditating, but it wasn't having any noticeable effect. Still, he tried.

' _A dog has got to bark, a lion has got to roar, and a man has got to wonder why? why? why?_

_The dog goes to sleep, the lion goes to eat, and the man says he understands'_

_But you do not understand. No one understands. Don't let your tiny brain put limits to your understanding of magic. Believe that you do not understand, and let Magic define everything through you, and your ability to control Magic will increase manifolds._

It was 1 AM when he finally stopped and collapsed onto his bed, exhausted, wishing for an owl to appear. His dreams were filled with him sending letters using a spotted golden owl to everyone he knew – his school teachers, the Prime Minister of England, the Queen, even to Mrs. Figg.

It was early in the morning the next day when he woke up. His body was protesting waking up this early, but his thoughts came alive by the sound of someone tapping on his window.  _Someone is tapping on my window!_  He immediately jumped into a sitting position, and saw a beautiful, golden owl, with black dots on its wings. He laughed euphorically. The owl continued rapping against the window. Harry whooped and rushed to open the window. It looked at him expectantly. Harry looked at it expectantly. Moments passed.

"Umm, can you deliver a letter for me to Hogwarts?"

The black pupils looked at him unblinkingly. Hoot. Hoot. As if he had offended it.

"Have you been to Hogwarts before?"

Hoot. Harry somehow knew that the owl was saying no.

"Will you be able to carry the letter there without a proper address?"

Hoot. This one was forceful, and then, averting its eyes, it looked around the room. It rushed to the table where Harry had written his letter last night, picked it, and flew away with another hoot to Harry.

Harry blinked. He wasn't expecting this, but he wasn't sure what he was expecting. Happiness was bubbling inside Harry, and his stomach even growled.  _Oh, I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday._ Executing a jig, he went to the kitchen to make himself something to eat.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was sitting in a vast room jam-packed with trinkets and objects of all kinds, color, and sizes. There was a phoenix perched atop a golden stand. The headmaster was sitting behind a clean black desk on a well-cushioned seat. There was a letter positioned on the top of the table.

_Hello Professor McGonagall,_

_I have received my Hogwarts acceptance letter and I am interested in attending this school._

_I became aware of the magical world and magic just recently, and do not know where to buy the equipment and the books required for the school. It would be extremely helpful if you could send a Hogwarts representative to aid me in buying these things._

_Another important thing that I should mention is that my relatives, with whom I am staying, are hesitant to pay for any magical equipment or any fee that Hogwarts charges. I was told my parents, before their death, had collected a small fortune, and that the Potter family was wealthy. I am not sure how to access my inheritance. I would be very grateful if you could also help me with this._

_Thank you,_

_Harry Potter_

_P.S. You should add another option for students to send a reply. Some students don't have an owl to send a letter. If you already have another option, you should explain it in the letter._

"I told you, Albus. They are the worst sort of muggles you can find. They have money, I gather. Why would they refuse to pay for their nephew's education?" Minerva shook her head, seething. She felt uneasy about what else these muggles had done to Harry.

"Yes, Minerva. You were right then, and are right now," Albus smiled. "I had hoped that raising a wizard would help them as much as it would help Harry. But it seems I was asking too much of them. Regrettably, there is nothing we can do now. From what I hear, however, things are not as unwelcoming as they could have been. Harry has grown up to be a fine young man."

"Has he, Albus? Have you seen him recently?"

Albus shook his head. "Arabella has been keeping an eye on him for me. She was always full of praise for him. But she did say that he didn't like any of her cats," Albus laughed.

"Stop laughing Albus. This is no laughing matter. Who in their right mind can't like a cat? Oh, I am sure he hasn't met the right cat yet. I will be taking him to Diagon Alley tomorrow. I think I may even buy one for him."

She was glad to hear that he was doing well. She had always liked Arabella. Much like other squibs, she had a nice head on her shoulders. "And what's this about him not knowing about the magical world? Those nasty muggles didn't tell him about who he was!" her nose flared. "Who told him about it then?"

"Ah, Harry had quite an adventure last month," his eyes twinkled. "The ministry had to send some wizards to handle a bout of accidental magic."

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "That must have been quite the experience for him."

"I heard that he handled it quite well. He was also full of questions about our world. Try to explain them to him as best as you can, will you?" Albus asked her expectantly. Seeing her nod, he added with a twinkle in his eyes, "How do you think he sent the letter?"

Minerva blinked, feeling bewildered. "I don't know. The letter was sitting on my desk when I came back after breakfast. Surely an owl dropped it off. How would he get an owl, though?"

Albus started laughing.

"Why are you laughing, Albus? It's not funny."

"Oh, I think it's quite hilarious."

Suddenly, an image of James Potter and his group causing mayhem came into her mind. An ominous feeling began to rise in her.

* * *

Harry was wandering wondering. After having his breakfast, he had decided to steer clear of Aunt Petunia that day. There were more important things on his mind as he went out for a stroll through the park. Like that owl, magic, Hogwarts, magic, Gilderoy Lockhart, magic, being famous, magic, his baggy clothes, magic, the letter, magic, the children playing in the park, magic, the dog wagging its tail, magic, why was Sunday named Sunday, and of course, magic.

He was sitting on a bench looking at the entrancing if formalized beauty of the park. A slight breeze was rustling the leaves of the trees making them fall to the solid ground one by one, and beams of sunlight were glowing on his skin. Children were playing on the swings, or just running around. Their parents were talking among themselves. Some families were sitting under a tree, having a picnic in the park. Harry smiled at the blissful atmosphere, in contrast to the negative energy reigning at his house at such moments.

He wondered if it would be like this at Hogwarts. He'd be living with children like him away from Dudley and his friends stopping him from making any friend or having any fun. He recalled the letter from Lyanna. Well, they won't be like him, will they? He would be famous there. What luck he had. He just wanted to be normal, learning magic, making friends, and growing up to make a name for himself. He didn't want his name to be already known. He didn't know how to be famous. He didn't want to live as though he was a detective. He imagined it would be like being the prince attending a school. He shuddered. On the one hand, everyone would pay attention to him, and on the other hand, everyone would pay attention to him. Well, he'd just have to live with that, making sure he acted like someone worth paying attention to. It would be infinitely better than living here.

Speaking of that, he wasn't sure if that owl had delivered his letter. His gut was telling him that it did, and usually, he trusted his gut feeling.  _How did it come this morning anyway?_ Was it all his attempts at magic that caused it to fly in this morning, or did someone from Hogwarts sent it, realizing that he would have no way to send a reply? If it was the former, this was the first time he had consciously performed magic, and Hogwarts was very negligent for a magic school. His gut was telling him that owl appeared because of him. He sighed. And he didn't know how he had done that.  _Why couldn't things ever be simple?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things would never be simple for Harry. That would just be boring.


End file.
